Human
by foolondahill17
Summary: It's Christmas on the first floor and the young man who was bitten by a werewolf is watching the collection of red-haired people huddled around the bed in the far corner. A thin, ragged, Professor-like man wanders over and engages him in conversation. An elaboration on the scene in Order of the Phoenix


Title: Human

Summary: It's Christmas on the first floor and the young man who was bitten by a werewolf is watching the collection of red-haired people huddled around the bed in the far corner. A thin, ragged, Professor-like man wanders over and engages him in conversation. An elaboration on the scene in _Order of the Phoenix_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Author's Note: Written to celebrate Christmas, which seems to be approaching with alarming swiftness.

* * *

_"But that fellow over there," he said, dropping his voice and nodding toward the bed opposite in which a man lay looking green and sickly and staring at the ceiling. "Bitten by a werewolf, poor chap. No cure at all." _

_Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley…._

* * *

"Happy Christmas," said Remus, looking at the young man whom was lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling in morose dejection.

He appeared to be in his late twenties, brooding, temperamental, and bitter. Then again, Remus probably didn't have any cause to call someone young who was within thirty-years-old. Remus had, after all, only turned thirty-six that passed October. It probably didn't matter though; He felt old, and probably looked old too, so no one was apt to take any notice.

The young man mumbled something nearly unintelligible but what might have been vulgar. Remus decided he wouldn't take any notice and searched his mind for something to open a conversation with, "Weather's nice, isn't it?" he threw his hand to the window by Arthur's bed, which showed a glimpse of blue sky above the tops of the brick buildings lining the streets.

The young man snorted.

"You haven't eaten your dinner," said Remus, glancing toward the full plate of turkey, potatoes, and cranberry sauce.

"No I haven't," snapped the young man, "Can I help you?"

"No," said Remus slowly and thoughtfully, gently hooking a chair with his ankle and pulling it over, "No, probably not." Molly was chiding Arthur behind him, trying to keep her voice muffled but failing. "Have you anyone stopping by later for Christmas?"

"No," the young man spat. His eyes drifted away from where they had been flitting to Remus's face back up to the ceiling. The orb of light hovering by the ceiling reflected off his pupils. His eyes looked bloodshot. His face was tinged gray. Remus caught a glimpse of white bandages wrapped around his chest between the buttons of his pajamas.

"How long have you been here?" said Remus gently.

"Going on two weeks," he answered irritably.

Remus shook his head and made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. "Have any folks?"

"Leave me alone," said the man. His voice was defiantly short, but Remus thought also mournful.

"Have they been to visit any time?" said Remus

"No," said the man. Remus didn't reply. The man continued, "I've been told they stopped by while I was still unconscious. They've been writing me letters –" his voice was cut off, perhaps from anger, or emotion. Remus deemed it wise not to press the matter.

"Do you have a name?"

"It isn't any of your business," the man looked back at Remus, eyes flaming. "I'll infect you if you don't bloody leave me alone."

"You could try," said Remus lightly, "But as I'm already infected it probably won't do me any harm."

The young man faltered. His eyes, drifting back to the ceiling, stammered and moved back to Remus's face. His cheeks, otherwise colorless, became slowly tinted with a bleached red. His mouth opened, as if to say something, but he quickly snapped it shut again.

"Sorry," he said at last, stiffly, and turned back to the ceiling to avoid eye-contact.

"You don't have to be," said Remus.

The young man snorted. "Bloody Healers spreading it all around," he muttered. "I assume that's how you knew." And without waiting for Remus to reply, "I appreciate your coming over, but I don't want sympathy."

Remus replied, staring fixedly at the young man, even though he continued to ignore his gaze. "It's difficult for me not to feel sympathy," he said, "What with I knowing how it feels. I have never earnestly wished upon someone else what I've had to cope with."

"That's encouraging," the young man snapped, his voice iced with sarcasm.

"Encouragement based off untruth is nothing more than an untruth itself," said Remus.

"Thank you, Professor."

"I actually was – a professor."

"I didn't know werewolves could have jobs."

"Notice the past tense."

"Was that before you were –"

"Bitten?"

"Yeah."

"No. I happened to know someone," said Remus. "Unfortunately some not-all-too-unforeseeable circumstances led to my resignation. Parents were not overly enthusiastic about me being in the same room as their children."

"Oh." The young man was finally looking at Remus, sitting up slightly in his bed, and looking vaguely uncomfortable. His fingers drummed on his bed sheets, evidently a habit displayed when feeling awkward. "When were you, you know…."

"Bitten?"

"Yeah. Or is that not appropriate for me to ask that?"

"I can't see anyone else in the room from which it would be more appropriate," answered Remus, adjusting his chair. He'd always prided himself on being straight forward, even if he was a private person by nature. "I was seven."

The young man didn't say anything. He looked away briefly before fixing his eyes back on Remus. "That – That must have been…hard. Did you – merlin, that's basically your whole life."

"Yes," said Remus, "Almost. You should be thankful Wolfsbane has been developed. I didn't have that when I was younger."

The man hesitated. "Is it really that terrible? The people, I mean. I – I've seen how they treat people like you – us – me," he gulped. "Is it really that awful? That – that man over there," he gestured to Arthur, whom was blushing under Molly's chiding. "He didn't seem that bad. Are there others like him? Everyone here has been – it's like they're hiding something. I can tell the Healers don't want to treat me. They don't want to touch me. My – my friends and family haven't been in to see me –"

"Yes," said Remus softly, cutting across him quickly to distract the young man and the difficulty he was having in forcing his words up his throat. The wounds were still raw. Remus knew the scars ran deep, had felt them still stinging many times, himself. "Sometimes it really is as hard as it looks."

The young man swallowed. The glowing orb of light glistened sharply off his eyes.

"The first thing you need to do," said Remus, "is to start writing your parents back."

"How do you know I haven't –"

"I wouldn't have, had it been me when I was your age," said Remus. "After your parents start replying they'll probably show up here. Expect your mother to cry, hug you, and coddle you until you can't stand it – but do. Your parents have probably felt the same way about werewolves as the rest of society has, and of course they never expected it to happen to their son –"

The young man opened his mouth to interrupt.

"Don't be angry. How did you feel about werewolves before you were bitten?"

The young man closed his mouth, turned away from Remus and said loudly and clearly, as though it was a speech he had memorized and rehearsed many times. "I used to think they were filth – animals. I used to think they were unfit to live with other wizards. Now I hate them."

The young man turned back to Remus. He did not look apologetic. He looked defiant, and angry, masking perhaps fear and grief, a grating sense of disbelief and how this was so achingly _unfair_.

"Who was it that bit you, do you know?" said Remus.

"No," spat the young man bitterly. "It could have been you, maybe."

Remus laughed. Something in his chest tightened. "I rather doubt it. I was curled up on the floor of the upstairs bedroom in a friend's house."

The young man didn't say anything. He looked irritated, perhaps at himself.

"There are many kinds of werewolves," Remus pressed on, if to fill the void if nothing else, "Just as there are many kinds of people. I happen to belong to the type that tries to muddle through life as best we can, dresses normally, talks normally, and attempts to follow through with the requirements of life normally.

"There are others who live together in packs, more wolf, perhaps, than human. They have discarded wizard-kind completely, have cast away their hope of a normal life in favor of bitterness and rebellion. The wolf that bit me did so as revenge against my father – who, ironically enough – had just written in a newspaper article something that was insulting to the werewolf, himself, and mildly degrading to all of werewolf kind."

The young man was toying with his blankets, twisting them around his fingers and unwinding them again.

Remus continued to speak. He heard his voice ebb off of his tongue and out of lips like he had prepared a speech. "I do not know how to impress upon you firmer, the importance of not surrendering to what emerges during the full-moon. Please become a werewolf of the kind I first described to you. I do not believe any man should be governed by what happens to them for only one night every month."

"I can tell you were a professor," said the man, smiling ruefully. "Nice lecture, that. Big words and everything."

"I'm glad you're developing a sense of humor," said Remus.

"This isn't a sense of humor," said the man. "This is rank cynicism."

"Some big words of your own, I see," said Remus.

"That _was_ Harry Potter I saw over there, wasn't it?" said the man, abruptly changing subjects and throwing his hand to Arthur's bed again.

"Yes," said Remus. "Indeed it was." His voice sounded guarded in his own ears.

"How did you manage to work that out?" said the man.

"Harry was a student of mine," said Remus. He didn't mention anything about knowing James because that trespassed on not only his own personal life, but Harry's as well.

"Funny," the young man continued, "kid doesn't _look_ very much like a raging lunatic. Then again, I probably don't _look_ very much like a blood-thirsty beast ready to emerge next full-moon."

"You never can tell about people," said Remus.

The young man laughed shortly, a noise that sounded painful and bitter.

"I never paid very much attention to crossbreed policy in the Ministry before,"  
he continued, changing subjects again. "I've been getting forms since I got here. Registration, classification…what not."

"Yes," said Remus. "It does get a bit tiresome."

"Boss sacked me last Monday," the man continued. "Not even a how-do-you-do, just a neatly folded pink slip attached to the leg of his owl. Would have strangled the owl had the Healers not carried it away."

"It's best to get used to it. I've had more job applications returned back to me unopened then I can count – or care to, for that matter." Remus continued, "I don't know if you've heard of a Madame Umbridge – Undersecretary to the Minister – but she's forced through a new law that will make it even more difficult for us to find jobs. She's also talking of getting rid of Condolence wages. I never got them because I was too young when I was bitten. But you're supposed to receive a bonus from your boss after he lets you go – if he admits that your infection is the cause of letting you go, or if you can prove it."

"My boss hasn't mentioned anything about that," said the man. "Is that something I should look into?"

"I'd mention it to him. If he's a decent man he'll say he forgot and hand it over. If he's any less decent than we would hope, he'll probably tell you he's firing you for some other reason. I'd suggest not taking it to court. You've got about next to no chances of winning."

"That's codswallop! What's happened to my rights as a human being?"

"Unfortunately it is just the way of our world. As for the right of a human being, you are now classified as a half-breed, and will be dealing more with the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures then you ever thought you'd have to."

The young man flinched as though Remus had physically struck him. "You _aren't_ much for encouragement, are you?"

"It isn't called pessimism if you're being realistic," said Remus. "The truth is sometimes hard – but that doesn't mean you should hide it."

"Bleeding brilliant," said the man, and slumped back against his pillows.

"One piece of advice I can give you," added Remus, "is when those rich relatives and friends not too afraid to look you in the eye offers you financial help – do yourself a favor and accept them."

The young man sputtered, "I'm not about to accept _charity_!"

"Yes," said Remus, "that's what I thought, at first. But then I found that it wasn't so much as charity, or pity, or even sympathy, but the honest need of a human being to be of use. They feel bad for you, and in turn feel bad for themselves for whatever they've thought about werewolves in the past – and offer you what help they can in order to make themselves feel better. Sometimes that isn't the case, but I suggest you take what they offer you – because it's never shameful to make the best of a situation."

The young man made a noise in the back of his throat that might have been a cough of derision.

"Believe it or not," said Remus, "but things now actually are a bit better off than things back then. For one, there _is_ the development of Wolfsbane, which has encouraged some potential employers to consider us as less of a threat to their safety – that also extends to potential neighbors. There's also been talk of policy change in the near future."

"Thank you, that makes me feel loads better," spat the man.

"At least you won't have people throwing rocks at you in the streets – at least not in broad daylight," said Remus.

"You what –" the man sputtered, "People actually – _they're_ the animals if you ask me!"

"Wonderful perspective to have on it," said Remus. "A man you can take it to his face is infinitely better than the man who cowers in the dark. Besides, they're just afraid of something they cannot understand, ergo they imagine it is a threat and irrationally strike out in violence. It is an all too common occurrence. It is best if you can learn to take it with a grin."

"You're bloody full of them aren't you?"

"Just trying to pass on what little bits of wisdom I've picked up over the years," said Remus. He smiled and twisted in his chair again.

"How old are you, anyway?" said the man, sounding gruff but as though he was trying to hide the smile that was beginning to creep onto his lips.

Remus replied with his age and the young man started. He tried to cover up his surprise, "Bloody – you don't look it."

Remus laughed. "No, I don't suspect I do – probably a great deal older."

The young man smiled unwillingly. "Sorry. That didn't come out the way I wanted it to."

Remus lifted a hand. "Not a problem. Transforming in and out of a different species every month unfortunately does have a way of aging prematurely."

The man's smile drifted off his face. He was suddenly frowning back at his bed sheets. Remus went silent and watched him. Sometimes information could be a very painful thing. He'd wondered if he had gone overboard.

"Do you have a girl?" he made sure to make his voice gentle, unassuming but hopefully inviting confidence.

"She bloody hasn't even written," said the man bitterly.

Remus didn't say anything. In all earnestness he was thinking that it was probably all for the better. An unwilling picture of Tonks, whom was beginning to act differently around him than the other men in the Order – whom he was beginning to find prudent to be wary of – came to mind and he thought that perhaps it was the better course of action for werewolves to avoid that sort of thing. He didn't know how he was supposed to voice that to the man – or whether or not he should even try.

The young man grabbed his plate of cold turkey and pulled it over his chest with almost vengeful force. He tore a chunk of turkey and chewed it vigorously. When he'd swallowed he opened his mouth again to speak and his voice came out sounded slightly brighter, "Probably all for the better, eh? Probably not the right girl if she'll let a little bit of fur and hair get in the way of love."

Remus felt his lips crick to one side. "When people still grasp your hand and look you in the eye after they know, that's when you'll know."

"Just grin and bear it 'til then, eh – I'm sorry what did you say your name was?"

"Remus Lupin," said Remus, half rising from his chair to offer his chair.

The young man took it, met his eye fully and said, "Liam Crowley."

"Pleased to meet you," said Remus. "I'm sorry, it's getting late; I'll have to take my leave." He rose the rest of the way from his chair. Liam Crowley nodded.

"Thank you for coming over."

"Glad to. Have a happy Christmas, Liam."

"And to you, Remus."

* * *

Reviews are a marvelous idea for a Christmas gift ;)

I hope you all have a very merry Christmas and God bless.


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